


Remnant

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:50:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John feels warmth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remnant

**Author's Note:**

> Written for JWP #27: **Like gold to airy thinness beat:** Pick up the book you're currently reading (or the closest one to you). Pick a random page, and find a description or simile. Use that - and be sure to tell us what your original description is, and what's the source. _Quote and source is after the story._
> 
>   
>  **Warnings** : More of a mood piece than anything else. **And absolutely no beta.** This was written in a complete rush. You have been warned.  
> 

  
  
  
  
  
  
Warmth. And not just merely physical warmth, but mental: the warmth of the heart when it knows love, and of the soul when it is satisfied. I revel in the weight of the covers, the crispness of the sheets, content beyond imagining, and yet somehow aware that I have not felt such warmth in far too long.  
  
A slender arm tightens across my torso, and a voice speaks from behind me. “You shimmer like a mirage of delight.” There is amusement there, and more warmth, the brightness of wit leavened with wonder.  
  
I press the hand resting flat against my chest, just over my heart, but do not turn around. Some instinct tells me to be still even as I answer fancy with fancy. “Am I so ephemeral, then? I had thought I was rather more substantial than that."  
  
A gentle tremor is the only evidence of the laughter I know is otherwise suppressed. The arm tugs me closer, but when the voice speaks again, the humor is gone, replaced by seriousness. The warmth remains, however, deep and abiding and fundamental. “No, John. No one could ever mistake you for ephemeral. You are as solid as the foundations of the world, as enduring as the sky. You are my rock, my dearest hope realized beyond all expectation.”  
  
Moved beyond words, I roll over…  
  
…and blink myself awake.  
  
My bed is cold, despite the covers, for it is empty of any save for myself.  My face is wet with the tears I shed in my sleep. Even while I dreamed of love realized, some part of my mind yet remembered all that is lost with my beloved, gone in death.  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 27, 2013.
> 
> “You shimmer like a mirage of delight.” – Squire, Tamora Pierce


End file.
